He did not answer, however, and was silent. To my surprise I noticed that Ryusuke’s eyes began to fill with tears. Suddenly, he opened his eyes and said, “Are you telling my father to die? If you are telling him to die, all right. I, myself, will tell my father, ‘Go to China and die.’” His eyes were closed for awhile. Then he opened his eyes, still full of tears, and thundered, “Can a cat use a tiger! What has Japan come to?” (At this time Toyama Mitsuru had more power in Japan than Prime Minister Konoe.)
I had just entered my thirties and was twenty years younger than Ryusuke but I began to tremble because of the force of these words. I asked Ryusuke Sensei to please let this matter pass and to pretend as if the question had never been raised.
Ryusuke Sensei’s compassion was also awe inspiring. A very good friend who was staying in the same college dormitory had tuberculosis. Seeing this depressed and despairing person vomit blood, Ryusuke Sensei said, “Tuberculosis is nothing. Watch this!” and drank down the vomited blood.
If you say it is absurd, it is absurd. If you say that he had no knowledge of hygiene, he had none. But it is in such actions where he was unique. He was not able to console his sick friend through words. It is said that as part of his training in jyo-e funi (clean and unclean are one and the same), Yamaoka Tesshu swallowed the vomit of a drunk beggar. But, for Ryusuke Sensei, this was not training. It was an awkward but very warm way to console his friend. For him, it was all he could do.
It is not clear whether he became infected because he swallowed the vomit or because he was living with this friend. When his friend passed away, he carried the ashes to the friend’s parents in Kagoshima. Upon his return, he caught a cold and had fever. From then on, he was bedridden with an incurable disease.
Toyama Ryusuke in formal attire during the period when he was generally bedridden with tuberculosis (1940).
Perhaps because he had been spoiled, Ryusuke’s younger brother had become a problem. To help this brother, their father had arranged to go to their cottage in Gotenba to lecture on the Analects of Confucius somewhere nearby. One day hearing of this, Ryusuke suddenly sat up on his sick bed, and said, “My father is having a difficult time because of my younger brother. I can’t be still and just lie here. I will go to Gotenba immediately.” Ryusuke was the oldest son, and since his father was trying his best to help his brother, it would not do for him to go by car or train. This bedridden person got up and said that he would walk from Kugenuma to Gotenba (some 40 miles away). On the way there was a sudden rain shower, and he spent the night in the shelter of a shrine. He caught a cold, and his condition worsened. That is how sincere he was.
For a person who had stayed in bed for several years to say that he is going to walk somewhere shows tremendous strength of spirit. Even though he was bedridden, he could raise the spirits of those around him. He could do this because of the strength of his will power.
Because a man like Ryusuke existed in this world, there is still hope. Because he lived, I too can become that kind of man. That is the feeling he gave. But when I think of my own self, my roots are inferior so I cannot become selfless like Ryusuke, I cannot completely discard my ego. Nonetheless, even if it is only by one step, then my wish is to get closer to the attainment of that state of Ryusuke’s.
Ryusuke Sensei often read the Diamond Sutra. He said that since he would be reading it, he may as well learn to recite it without the scripture book. For one week, he went without sleep and learned the entire sutra. With a candle on both elbows, he continuously read the sutra with his hands in gassho. Though even an expert finds it difficult to memorize that long sutra, he memorized it in a week. This proves that not only did he possess strong will, but also an extraordinary brain.
Someone recounted to me another story which shows Ryusuke’s tremendous willpower:
There was to be a commemoration of the tenth anniversary of the death of Sun Yat-sen (the revolutionary leader who overthrew imperial rule in China). From Japan, Ryusuke’s father Mitsuru, Premier Inukai, and others were to attend. Despite the illness that he had suffered for eight or nine years, Ryusuke Sensei resolved to leave his bed and go to China. In the intense heat of June this very long Chinese ceremony was held. Some people held their hats to shield themselves from the sun; some people opened their fans; even healthy people could not stay still. During it all, Ryusuke maintained a resolute demeanor and did not move at all from beginning till end. That sick man did that, you know. When I saw his figure, I came to realize the greatness of this man and to revere him.
As I said before, Ryusuke Sensei was bedridden for a long time. When he heard a person’s story, he often just put his hands together in gassho and smiled gently, but he had a strange gift: if one spent an hour with him, one would be full of energy for one week. We all had difficult times and problems and felt frustrated. At those times, we would go to see this sick man. Since he was a man of very few words, there were times when we went to see him and left without him saying a word. When we went home, however, the feeling of frustration was gone, and one would be full of energy. Moreover, that feeling would continue for a week and sometimes more.
Instead of comforting a sick man, we were comforted by the sick man. At the beginning, I thought that he had that effect on only me, but all who went to see him went home saying, “Today I was comforted by Ryusuke.”
In Buddhism, there is a word, semui, which means to give fearlessness. Ryusuke Sensei was an example of a true semuisha (giver of fearlessness).
One day when I went to see him, Ryusuke Sensei’s cheek was swollen. I asked him what had happened and he said, “About a week ago, the dentist came and pulled out my tooth. But he had a difficult time, and I began to bleed profusely. The dentist was distraught and in a greasy sweat. Holding a wash-bowl, he began going back and forth. ‘Doctor! I am the one who is bleeding—not you!’ I said. He said, ‘Oh, yes,’ and calmed down a bit.” Relating this story, Ryusuke Sensei laughed.
A few days later, I learned that Ryusuke Sensei was in serious condition and rushed to see him. His father was at his side holding his hand. He was unconscious and moaning. When his tooth was pulled, a virus entered his body, and he got blood poisoning. It went to his brain, became meningitis, and he died.
When Ryusuke Sensei died, his father was at his side stroking his head. He spoke to Ryusuke as though he were alive. He said, “Ryusuke, you had a splendid life. Most people in your condition would have died twenty years ago, but you hung on until now. If one lives for a hundred years but never grasps the essence of life, that life was not worthwhile. But you certainly knew what was important in life. Very well done.”11
Seki Seisetsu
During the late spring of 1925, when he was twenty-one, Omori Roshi met Seki Seisetsu (1877-1945) who became his lifetime mentor and his greatest teacher. Seisetsu was born on January 18, 1877, in Hyogo Prefecture with the family name of Kabumoto. At the age of two he was adopted by Seki Soshun of Tenrin-ji, a temple under the jurisdiction of Tenryu-ji. At age five, he became a kozo (child apprentice monk). In February of 1893, at the age of 16, he entered Tenryu-ji Monastery and began sanzen under Hashimoto Gasan.
After the death of Gasan, he continued sanzen under Touiku. In 1902 at the age of 25, Seisetsu returned to Tenrin-ji but resigned a year later and did sanzen with Takagi Ryoen at Tokkoin in Kobe. At the age of 30, he received inka shomei (certifying his realization) from Takagi Ryoen. In 1922 he became the abbot of Tenryu-ji, and in 1943, at the age of 66, became the head of all the Rinzai temples in Japan. He died at the age of 68 on October 2, 1945.
Below Omori Roshi recollects his meeting and training with Seisetsu.
I was taking a walk on Kagurazaka (in Tokyo) when I saw a sign saying, “The Archbishop of Tenryu-ji, Seki Seisetsu Zazen Kai.” I went in and listened to Seisetsu Roshi’s discourse. Right away, I went to tell Oda Sensei what I had heard. He said, “All right, I will check this man out.”
When he returned, he urged me, “That priest Seki Seisetsu is very intelligient. I
f you have a teacher who lacks in intelligence, you will suffer. You must by all means practice sanzen with that priest.” I immediately went to Meitokukai, the place where Seisetsu Roshi was lecturing, and became a student of Seki Seisetsu.
Seisetsu Roshi was about 50 at this time. He was sitting on a chair on the second floor of the Meitokukai. He impressed me as a huge oyabun (chief) with piercing eyes who spoke very sparingly. It was difficult to get close to him.
I started sanzen in the traditional manner with mu (the first koan usually given to beginners). In the beginning, I went once a year from Tokyo to Tenryu-ji in Kyoto for the rohatsu sesshin (the one week sesshin commemorating Buddha’s enlightenment). In addition, I went every month to Meitokukai in Tokyo for sanzen.
Once I overheard Seisetsu Roshi tell a student in another room, “In May, the weather is nice, so come.”
Very cautiously and timidly I asked, “May I come to the sesshin in May, too?”
“Yes, come. Come.” he said.
I thought, “That means I can go anytime.” I went to the May sesshin. In one year, I went to two big sesshin; in the end, I went to all sesshin every year. Seisetsu Roshi was a severe man but there was another aspect to him. Once after sesshin, when I went to tell Seisetsu Roshithat I would be returning to Tokyo, he said, “Good. I have to go to Kyoto Station to see the mayor off. Sorry to bother you, but if you don’t mind, would you carry his present and come with me to the station?”
Seki Seisetsu in his late 60’s.
When we went to Kyoto Station, Seisetsu Roshi said, “There is still time till the train departs. Let’s go to see the art exhibition at the department store.” I followed him into the store and we went to the exhibition. He looked around at the exhibition saying, “Hmm. Hmm.” After making one round, we left and went up to the roof.
Looking to the east, he said, “That is Mt. Hiei.” He faced north and said, “Kurama is around there.” He moved around on the roof slowly muttering so that I could hear. At first, while following him, I wondered what he was doing, but finally I understood. Since Seisetsu Roshi knew that I always went to Kyoto just for sesshin and returned to Tokyo as soon as it was over, he made up an excuse and was showing Kyoto to me from the roof of this department store. For that reason, he made me carry the present for the mayor and brought me here. When I realized what he was doing, I was touched beyond words.
When I began going to sesshin at Tenryu-ji, particularly during the December rohatsu sesshin, I would think, this time, I will die the “Great Death” (Tai-Shi Ichi-Ban). But by the evening of the first day, I would be already tired. Going out to do yaza (zazen done by oneself), it was cold. I thought, “If I feel so tired today, I will be no good tomorrow so I will end for today.” I would return to my place and go to sleep.
The next day, I would think, “This is no good,” and try hard. During the afternoon, however, I would become tired. My legs hurt. I had stiff shoulders. By the time I went out to do yaza, I was sleepy and again would think, “If I overdo it tonight, all I will do tomorrow is doze during zazen, and it will not be good.” Thinking these things, I would go back to my place and sleep. Though I was doing zazen in order to destroy my ego, I pampered myself and could not do it. I think that this was a pitiful attitude.
After risking my life during the Hundred-times Practice of the Hojo, I guess I gained confidence. With that confidence, I thought that even if I died, I would not regret it. This time at sesshin, even if it was midnight, even if it was dawn, I didn’t feel that I should go to sleep because I might be tired the next day. I sat intently. Zazen is just one stroke of the valorous mind (yumiyo). Without this valorous mind, this feeling of casting aside the myriad distractions, one cannot do zazen.
The Entrance Hall (Genkan) at Tenryu-ji, Kyoto.
During a summer sesshin while we were lined up sitting in front of the kansho (the bell which is rung before going in for sanzen), the hair on the nape of the monk in front of me was trembling. “Could he be that tense about sanzen?” I wondered. We laymen rang the kansho bell with a nonchalant feeling as if we were playing, but the “professional” monk was deadly serious. When I saw that, I was amazed and surprised. Was I doing only lukewarm sanzen? This young monk who must have been younger than me was so tense that the hair on his head, which had only been shaved four or five days ago, was shaking. I can still clearly see it. I shuddered at the sight. My skin crawled. I thought that it was a frightful thing and wondered if being a professional priest was so forbidding.
As for my koan, one, two, three years went by but Roshi would not approve. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t permit me to go on. He would say to me, “I could let you pass, but what about you, is it all right with you?” What could I say? Another time, he said “If you were a monk who was here just to put in time to become the head priest of a temple, I would be much more lenient. If not, monks would have to pass their whole life without opening their eye, and it would be shameful for them. That would be too pitiful. Therefore, I let them pass more easily. Also if they are priests, they will have many opportunities to train. But you are a layman. You began to train of your own volition. As a layman, you don’t know if you will be able to train for your whole life. So, when you train, you must be serious and stake your life on your training. I can’t let you pass at an intermediate level.” He continued, “Even someone like me was so very, very happy when I passed my first koan that I danced around Sogenchi (the lake at Tenryu-ji) all night. Do you have that kind of feeling?”12
The Zendo at Tenryu-ji serves as both meditation hall and living quarters for the unsui (trainees).
For eight years, Omori Roshi commuted between Kyoto and Tokyo. In 1933, finally, he “broke through” and passed the koan Mu. About this realization, Omori Roshi says:
My experience was not very impressive or glorious, so I don’t like to talk about it but…. One day after finishing zazen, I went to the toilet. I heard the sound of the urine hitting the back of the urinal. It made a splashing sound. It sounded very loud to me, and at the very moment I realized, “AHA,” and I understood. I had a realization.
“I AM!” I was very happy. But it was not a showy experience. It was not even very clean. Sound is not the only thing which can trigger this experience. Yamada Mumon Roshi, with whom I trained, had a very different experience. He was walking down the hallway when he saw the red color of the autumn leaves, and suddenly he was enlightened.
When you are enlightened, you realize very clearly that you are right in the middle of Mu. This becomes a little theoretical, but according to Nishida’s philosophy, it is stated that the infinite circle has infinite centers. In effect, what happens is that you realize that that center of the infinite circle is you.
When you are in the state of samadhi, whether you call it Musamadhi or another type of samadhi, you are unconditionally in the realm of Absolute Nothingness (zettai-mu). At that time, because of some incident, when you break through the samadhi, you will attain realization. (It is like a ripe fruit on a tree. When the wind blows or the branch sways, the fruit will just fall from the tree. If the fruit is not ripe, though the wind may blow or the branch sway, the fruit will not fall).
You will realize with your entire being that you are at the center of Absolute Nothingness (zettai-mu) and at the center of the infinite circle. To be at the center of the infinite circle in this human form is to be BUDDHA himself. You have been saved from the beginning. You will understand all of these things clearly and with certainty.
Even if you are in the state of samadhi but do not have this realization, you are merely in that state. You will not feel that, “I am glad I am who I am. A great burden has been lifted from my shoulders. I am content. I am saved.”13
Omori also did sanzen with Harada Sogaku of Hosshin-ji in Obama, Fukui Prefecture. He recounts his experience below.
In the zendo (meditation hall) of Hosshin-ji, there was a big pillar clock. It helped me to enter samadhi. Since this monastery was of the Soto Sect, we meditated wit
h our faces towards the wall, and the jikijitsu (head monk of the meditation hall) patrolled behind us. When I went to sesshin, the jikijitsu and the jokei (his assistant) would hold the keisaku (a flattened oak stick) and would make their rounds hitting us from the rear.
During the last sitting of a sesshin, we would say, “Muuu,” like the sound a cow makes. They would say that the way the word was voiced was not good and would hit us on the back with all their might. They really hit at that monastery. In the morning as soon as we would get up, wash our faces, and sit on the straw mats, they began to hit us. They would say, “What is this?! You jellyfish!” The way that they hit was terrible. For some reason, however, I was never hit.
When I was sitting one evening, I was saying, “mu” and sitting in zazen meditation. The head monk came up from behind me and said, “That’s good. Keep it up. Without a doubt, you will have a realization.” He passed without hitting me. After lights out, everyone would choose a place to do free meditation. No matter where I went, I heard, “Mu, Mu.” It was like being in a cow shed. Here in one week, I was told that I had had a realization, but I was not satisfied and went to Seisetsu Roshi to do sanzen.
In trying to find an answer to a koan, if you say, “Mu, Mu,” in a very tired way with the words coming out in a mechanical fashion, no matter how long you practice that, you will never enter samadhi. Instead, you must become very serious and say, “Mu… Mu,” with your entire body and whole being as you breathe each breath. If you yourself do not BECOME Mu, it will not be the correct interpretation of the koan.14
Atsumi Masaru
While doing sanzen with Seisetsu Roshi, Omori Roshi was profoundly influenced by another man. In 1927 he met Atsumi Masaru, who was neither a martial artist nor a Zen master, but a philosopher and a social crusader. Omori Roshi reminisces below.
Omori Sogen Page 3